3.14 A recent declaration of love....

2007-08-07T10:52:00.000Z

All Roads Lead To Jack

I like the feeling of the sand between my toes,
Sand - like the colour of your hair,
Hair which I run through with my fingers gliding
As your fingers run down my back...

Fingers lightly touch my skin,
I touch yours - like silk -
Silk like the dress I wore,
Wore only once, on the night you took me dancing...

Dancing, as we do under the covers -
Covers soft, light and blue like your eyes,
Your eyes that stare into mine,
Into mine, and into my soul...

My soul, which is also yours.

01/08/07

xxx

Porcelina - June '06

2007-06-17T14:45:00.000Z

Porcelina’s heart shatters –

Fragments blow over the Sahara.

The one who was to keep it safe,

Tossed it gently to the wind.

All saw her as strong as steel,

And as shiny and unbreakable as a diamond –

But he named her Porcelina.

The only one who really knew

Why red was her favourite hue,

Or why she didn’t sleep,

Or liked to cry,

Still daft and prettiful,

To him she could not lie.

Always and forever – Two halves of a pie.

An old attempt at narrative poetry....

2007-05-27T22:11:00.000Z

My Dark Café Days in Red Lion Square

I walked the streets of Holborn,

In a wondrous daze,

My darkened suburbs

Became bright city ways.

Stumbling across Red Lion Square,

Three figures, in low wooden chairs,

Drinking coffee, looking effortlessly

Debonaire –

A Frenchman, café owner and a female failed poet,

Were soon to lighten my load, although I did not yet know it.

“Come”, said the café owner,

Pulling out a chair, gesturing, “Please come over,

Tell me of the lines on your face.

Are they shadows from our bright city sun,

Or old worry that has been misplaced?”

Without a moment’s pause, I sat down,

Tried to hide my natural frown,

And here it is, in shrunken word,

The story that my strangers heard:

I told him of travels far and wide,

That were soon to come,

And of the boy by my side.

With pride, but also with a strange, uncontrollable woe,

For I still had far to go

Before I would become content with my lot,

Would this be love be forever, or the one I forgot?

“Please” said my companion, lacking eloquence or grace,

“Now trust my tone, ignore the shade of my face,

For your speech, rather than make me cry

Fills me with envy. Now I cannot lie,

Pretty girls like you never truly die

In the hearts of boys and in young men’s eyes.

You may feel lonely for a while,

But fears and tears will hide your smile”.

Drawing back from me one last time, he asked,

“Would you like some more coffee?”

Although divine,

I declined,

With places to be, people to see,

And elders words to ponder.

I left the cafe, my friend, the Frenchman and poet,

And wandered across London town.

Barely knowing it, but with a lighter air

For once - not a frown.

May 2006

an epilogue??

2007-05-20T12:31:00.000Z

you, were always more
than that mark on the wall,
the mess In the hall
froM that night where we fought -
like two lovebirdS that had gOt lost.

you, who made me feel so small,
but RemembeRed to call.
before You left my dream,
my tower of cards
THAT you scattered In the stream

and that girL In thE corner
with the stupiD hair,
wIll always sTop and stare, at me,
i'm not alWAyS what i seem,
everY washOUt's wet dream.
they haven't got a clue,
about the stoRy of me and you.

you, you'll always Be more
thAn the doctor's call,
the certificates on the wall,
that heeded my plea and let me Be,
to save your sanitY,
no santicty in lies.
help was at hand,
PLEASE understand -
that as i laid down and said goodbye,
to another liFe,
it was Only to not let you cRy.

and that Guy In the corner will always stare,
the girl will go and fix her mask and hair
they loVE eachother, those two,
then we'll go out into the blue,
just ME, us, and them,
not you.

2007-05-18T12:07:00.000Z

This poem was written last summer, towards the end of my Gap Year, just before I began travelling. I spent a lot of time in Russell Square, as I was getting all of my shots and travel medicines from the Nomad clinic nearby - (didn't work - I still caught malaria!).
Anyway, this was written on a particular sunny day, whilst in the park cafe.....
Feel free to ask if you wish for any explanation of the images, or more context xx

The Marble Tops of Russell Square

The marks that hide themselves in winter,

Come out to play

And dance across my face.

The monotony of a dreary sky

Broken by a powerful grace,

Like my complexion, watch them

Sprouting new life and new trails

Across the world.

I melt into the marble surface –

Watching, waiting,

As the crowds gather, in place of cloud,

And cover the green like a shroud.

Clear a place for me,

To sit,

Serene,

And bask in the summer sun.

05/05/06

2007-05-14T20:45:00.000Z

Beautiful dawn.

Approaching the night.

Ponder upon the orange light; that fills

My room and bleaches my mind.

Feel my kindred

Bleary-eyed

Wonders -

Lost souls to the demons of sleep,

Whilst I and my disciples pace the street.

Cleansing light displays my rights to madness

But purity removes the sadness

That leads me to walking alone.

My hangman’s noose

Is the wire of the telephone.

The pure morning is a friend indeed.

22/03/06

2007-05-13T22:05:00.000Z

An Ode To A Tree – Begging Mother Nature for Forgiveness

Oh tree,

Hear my plea,

Forgive me for what I’m about to do,

But I really need to pee.

I do not mean to desecrate,

Your wondrous and holy state,

But I’ve left this far too late,

To find a place that’s clean.

I still admire you, green and tall,

How you’ve watched your brothers fall,

At the hands of men who use wood to build and grow,

Regardless of Mother Nature’s woe.

I respect your beautiful and strange land,

But tree, I don’t think you understand,

How hard the quest to find a place that’s clean,

Out here in an African Village Green.

So please Mother, forgive my sin,

But Nature calls –

And we can’t both win!

02/07/06

This poem was written whilst I was travelling in Ghana last year. I think you can guess what inspired me :P They definitely need to work on their plumbing (among many other things!).

I have also used it in a documentary I am making, so please let me know what you think of it. I don't want to put bad rhyme in (what I hope will be) a good piece of film!

2007-05-03T18:41:00.000Z

Tab Top or Pencil Pleat?

These hands can play piano,

So why are they scrubbing floors?

These hands can play piano,

So why are they busy

Opening doors

For Mothers; Superior in

Every way but one,

In truth I am above this,

So why do I feel like scum?

I may not walk with Lords or Kings,

Or spend time playing

With Evelyn’s Dirty Pretty Things,

But these hands can play piano,

There’s a brain and a person too.

I’m more than just a nametag…

Can I play for you?